Unwitting Betrayal
by berelinde
Summary: Cullen wakes to find that the love of his life has been unfaithful. He confronts his betrayer and discovers that things are more complicated than they seem. Post Asunder.


_AN__: __This __one__-__shot __came __to __pass __as __a __result __of __a __question __posed __by __LolaLei __on __page__ 200 __of __the __Knight__-__Captain __Cullen __fan __thread __at __BioWare __Social __Network__: "__How __would __Cullen __react __to __infidelity__?" __It __was __not __a __challenge __or __anything__. __It __was __just __a __question __that __sparked __my __imagination__. __I __had __a __hard __time __coming __up __with __a __reason __why __the __protagonist __might __be __unfaithful __to __Cullen __and __a __harder __time __finding __a __reason __why __the__ "__other __man__" __I __had __chosen __might __consent __to __participate__. __As __an __added __complication__, __I __didn__'__t __want __to __demonize __anybody __in __the __process__. __This __is __the __result__. __Enjoy__._

* * *

Cullen's arms closed around the woman who shared his bed, the passion of their reunion causing shuddering echoes to resound through his mind. Their separation had not been long, a month at most, but her absence was like a missing tooth. He could not help but probe the void and wish she was there to fill it. That was past now, thank the Maker. He had delivered his report and received the lyrium that would keep him sane and personable in the coming weeks.

Lyrium. He hated the drug, but he knew that he needed it. Many of his brethren had tried weaning themselves off of it, and their sobbing cries haunted his dreams. In time, he too would have to consider alternative sources. The journey to Val Royeaux was not one he could make often, and his superiors, such as they were, dispensed every vial with growing reluctance. It had taken him weeks to prove his loyalty and to demonstrate that he was worthy of the gift. He would have thought they would have been less parsimonious. Since Kirkwall and the schism between the templars and the Chantry, few remained loyal. Supply of the metal was a consideration, however. The unrest in Orlais meant that few from Orzammar would risk the trek. Perhaps they had given him all they could spare, which boded ill for his future. He did not want to go outside the law, but need outweighed custom, and he needed to be coherent to be of any use to her. He could not do without her. He had lost too much already.

She slept still, unaware that he woke or that he cast loving eyes upon her. This was his favorite time of day, when he could savor their togetherness and marvel anew at the miracle that had brought them together.

All his life, he had been told that mages were inhuman, that they were tools to use against those who threatened the Chantry. How wrong he had been. This woman had a loving heart, and she had given it to him. To him! How certain he had been that love was a lie men told to excuse their excesses. How certain he had been that the emotion that seized him all those years ago had been evil. He had not acted on his feelings then. He believed that the Warden was his torment, that she was sent to test him. Maybe she was. After Kirkwall, he could no longer be certain of anything save that they were all human, templars and mages alike. He had seen the Knight-Commander brought low with the madness of unrestrained ambition and knew that his calling offered no protection against the evil of human weakness. He had seen the Champion fight for the good of _all_ the people, regardless of what came after. He had tried to hold his people together, to remain true to Light that guided them, but it was too late. The sickness of hate had already infested their ranks and there was nothing to do but retreat to Orlais with the few faithful that remained. And then he met _her_.

She had healed him, taught him that goodness was as much a trait of humanity as evil and greed ever were. She had been patient and steadfast, never giving up on him even when he gave up on himself. She had given him the courage to confront his fears and face his Order superiors, and he had returned victorious. All of his hopes and dreams now resided in her, the beautiful woman whose golden head now rested upon his pillow.

A thread of bronze waved in the near distance between his face and her head. He plucked it from the linen and studied it. It was a single brown hair.

How could this be? She was as blond as he.

"Have we had company, my love?" he asked.

"What?" she replied sleepily. "No, of course not."

"Whose is this, then?" He held out the hair for her to see.

She stared at it, her gaze like that of a deer caught in the dwarf's crossbow's crosshairs.

"It must have been on my cloak," she said, the lie plain in her eyes. "I loaned it to Galyan when we tried to break into the dungeons below the White Spire. He was afraid that he'd be recognized."

Cullen threw himself from their bed and pulled on his clothing, disbelief numbing his hands and making him clumsy.

"Where are you going, love?" she asked, desperation creeping into her voice. "We don't have anywhere we have to be for hours!"

"I don't know," he said. He fled.

For hours, he wandered the stricken city. Everywhere he looked, he saw despair. Jader, like everywhere else in Orlais, was rent by civil war, and the growing hostility with Ferelden only added to the unrest. At that moment, it was a perfect mirror of Cullen's own thoughts.

He had been blind. From the beginning, he envied her easy rapport with the charismatic mage. Galyan charmed her effortlessly while he grasped for words to wish her good morning. Even after she made her choice, Cullen often found her deep in counsel with the cheeky mage. At the time, he told himself that they must converse, that she would be devastated without the company of another mage to make her feel less alone. For his part, Galyan seemed to accept his fate as the one not chosen. He joked of her rejection and pretended that it meant nothing to him, although Cullen could see his pain. He had allowed himself to feel pity for the man, to risk love and lose twice in one lifetime.

He wanted to vilify Galyan. He was a mage and therefore not to be trusted. Surely, it must all be his doing. He had tempted her. He had enlisted demons to help him pursue the woman of his dreams. He had succumbed to blood magic at last. _She_ was incapable of wrongdoing, so there was no one else to blame.

Without thinking, Cullen's feet took him outside the city to decrepit hut where Galyan lived. The outside was a lie, just like everything else about the young mage. Inside, the cottage was tidy and well-ordered, but he needed the fiction of disuse to maintain the illusion he had chosen for himself. No one cared what a hermit did, so Galyan believed himself safe. Cullen opened the door.

Galyan was inside, a bottle and two cups in front of him. He poured wine into the second cup and held it up for Cullen.

"I've been expecting you," he said. Cullen knocked the cup from his hands.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't slay you where you sit, mage," Cullen demanded.

"I can't," he said, getting up and drawing the curtains over the windows. "I've known since your return that it would come to this."

"This isn't like you. No excuses? No levity to put me off guard before you attempt an escape?"

"There is no escape, my friend," Galyan said sadly. "There is only one way this will end. It's been a nice life. I'll be sorry to leave it."

"Aren't you even going to tell me what happened?" Cullen asked.

"Does it matter? She chose you. You live. What is left for me, even if I survive today?"

"What are you saying? What do you mean, 'you live'?"

"Word reached us four days ago that a party of templars were found slain outside Halamshiral," Galyan said, his voice flat. "The bodies were mutilated beyond recognition. The only item that had escaped the destruction was a beaded silk purse with an iris embroidered upon it."

"That was mine!" Cullen gasped. "She gave it to me! It was stolen in Val Royeaux. I never dreamed that templars would be responsible for the theft."

"Maybe they weren't," Galyan continued in the emotionless voice that was so alien to him. "Maybe one of them bought it from a fence. We'll never know. It found its way to Jader with the tale of the dead templars. She thought you were dead. We all did."

"So you jumped into my bed to comfort her?" Cullen could not decide which angered him more, Galyan's opportunism or her ability to be consoled.

"In a manner of speaking. There was a lot of wailing and grief first. I admit to trying to comfort her, but what happened after was... It should never have happened. She was beyond reason, clinging to anything that would make her feel anything beyond the loss of you. I thought I could hold her and not feel anything. I've never been any good at that. Even when she begged me to lie down beside her so she wouldn't be alone, I thought I could keep my hands to myself. She never intended it to go that far. I was weak. I am sorry for both your sakes."

Cullen sat down at the table and drank Galyan's wine without realizing he had done so.

"Now what?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," Galyan said miserably.

Cullen wanted to hate Galyan for what he had done, but he could not. Galyan loved her in his way. In his place, what would he have done to comfort her in her grief? In his place, what would he _not_ have done?

"I meant, how do we resolve this?" Cullen said. "We cannot both have her."

"You would not say that if you had seen the light in her eyes when we heard that you were seen alive and well outside Jader," Galyan said. "If there ever was a choice, she has made it. If I ever had a chance with her, I have lost it. For the second time."

"How do I get past this? How do I forget that she sought comfort from you?"

"You don't. You go home, take her up in your arms, and you give thanks to the Maker that you've got someone who loves you enough to grieve. That's what I would do."

"Er... yes. Farewell, Galyan."

"Farewell, Ser Cullen. I'd say 'Call again,' but my heart isn't in it."

Enticing aromas greeted Cullen's nostrils as he opened the door. She had made breakfast for him in his absence. Galyan was right. The light did shine in her eyes at the sight of him. Maybe this was just the Makers way of ensuring that he showed proper gratitude for the gifts he was given. He certainly resolved to think of it that way.

"Come here, my love," he said. "I don't think I kissed you good morning."


End file.
